who is this again

One day Everyone turned up to a meeting in dresses and skirts without discussing it and Courfeyrac walked in in his usual skinny jeans, froze, cursed, left, and came back 10 minutes later in a skirt apologising for forgetting the protest.

No one has the heart to tell him it was coincidental so they spent the rest of the meeting discussing gender politics. 

I’m extremely in an embarrassing fandom, and it’s new, so I don’t want to jinx anything, but it seems to be going okay.  When I pictured who I’d be with in 2017, I didn’t really imagine myself with 3 dorky political bros, but here we are.  I’ve been extremely salty in my head about all the various fandoms you guys have joined that I haven’t been able to understand so I TOTALLY understand if this is where you have to disembark.  IT MAKES SENSE, but also I’ll be trying to tag as “podsa” if u need to block.   

My Creative Process:

Me @ 9:00 a.m: Not ready to write that fic yet

11:00 a.m: Still not in the right mood

2:00 p.m: *scrolling through Tumblr* Nope

5:00 p.m: Not yet

8:00 p.m: Not feeling it


anonymous asked:

More👏oda👏and👏gide👏please👏 (if you wanna.)

For @hplovecraftsuggestions and @andregidesuggestions. Set in the same world as this fic. 

Continued credit to @fyodorsuggestions for the reincarnation idea~

Gide/Odasaku | Reincarnation | Death & Murder Mentions | Potentially disturbing imagery. 

They meet again at a cafe just outside of Yokohama. It’s small, almost cozy. Mostly, it’s quiet. The business it gets isn’t enough to make it crowded, keeps it comfortably empty, lets them have the space to themselves aside from the stoop-backed woman that pours their tea into porcelain-and-gold-cracked cups. 

He’s silent. So is Gide. Rarely do they ever have to fill their time with words; what have they to say that they already haven’t, a life ago or two or three ago? What answers could they give they haven’t already spat out or bit back?

It’s good to see you? No it isn’t.

How have you been? Wading through agony. 

Did you miss me? Like one misses a cancer gnawing on bone. 

Yet there’s a peace. It’s strange. They sit across from each other like they haven’t put swords through each others’ bellies and bullets through each others’ skulls, like they haven’t had their fingers wrapped around each others’ throats as the pulse beats out a dying cadence, like they haven’t always and forever been the reason they leave the world in a current of blood and salted tears. 

Yet there’s a peace. Odasaku turns the parchment papers of the book he brought with him, eyes training over elegantly inked kanji, and Gide sips his Darjeeling methodically - silently. Index and middle finger slip through the handle, the other hand cradles the bottom of cup as he brings it to his lips - sighs and sips as the heat slides down his throat and the bitter-sweet coats his tongue.  

Odasaku watches, from his peripheral, the way red eyes slide listlessly closed and Gide savors. He wonders when was the last time Gide had ability to drink his tea without the world burning around him, though to be fair, he thinks to himself a little bitterly, the world is always burning wherever Gide steps. 

He can almost feel the embers beginning to crackle beneath his feet. Every second of peace is just one second closer to the flame. 

He turns another page. Gide takes another sip. The cafe is quiet. 

Self-indulgently doodling a soft baby while I try some things out.


she was right